This is a
work of fiction, which contains consensual and NON-consensual adult, homosexual
sex between men and with a sixteen-year-old boy, and there is some violence.
Please do not read any further if these issues are bothersome to your
sensibilities even in fiction.

DISCLAIMER

While
there are several populated
areas in the United States called "Goshen", the area "Goshen, Alabama", referred
to in my story is completely fictitious, although the surrounding mountains,
rivers and other locals mentioned do exist. The characters in the story
are also fictitious and are in no way meant to reflect on or resemble anyone
living or diseased,
nor should any negative generalizations be implied
regarding the fine people of Alabama
or of any alternate lifestyles.

***A reminder that "Land O' Goshen", as well as any of it's
chapters, is copyrighted and is the exclusive property of Mickey Ray, AKA "Daddy", of
Artistic Affairs in
Binghamton, NY. The author may be contacted by email at daddyshere@gmail.com.
"The Bachelor Party" may not be used, edited or altered, directly or
indirectly, in part or in whole, for any commercial purposes without express
permission from the author.

The content is adult, sexual reading
material which is primarily homoerotic in nature, contains particular sexual
fetishes and is meant for entertainment purposes only. The author takes no
responsibility for illegal accessing of this material to minors. All
characters are fictional and any similarities of names or personalities with
real persons are purely coincidental. Today, things being what they are, the
author neither approves nor condones unsafe sex. Daddy

Young
sixteen-year-old Theodore Burrows lost his mother in horrible fire and now has
to live with his depraved
and sadistic father, Clyde, who left him and his mother long ago. Already
living with his father is his mentally challenged,
eighteen-year-old brother, Willie, whom he has also not seen since he was a baby.

Already
verbally, physically, and sexually abused by his father and brother, desperate, Teddy
escapes in the middle of the night in the dead of a snow storm nearly frozen to
death, he finds himself rescued by a retired State Policeman. Frightened
and skeptical of his new surroundings, the boy warily accepts this huge, gentle
giant's offering of shelter.

Meanwhile
Theo’s father is furious that the boy got away and takes out his rage and
frustration on his other son, Willie.

Chapter V

Six hours earlier, that same evening,
Clyde Burrows was giving his eldest boy, Willie,
what for! The muscular, hairy and unshaven man gulped his beer and paced back
and forth behind his son. He stood about 5', 11", and weighed just over 210
pounds, not an ounce of it was fat. He was dressed only in a graying, moth-eaten
tank-top, his filthy white socks, and his favorite, discolored, and cum-stained
jockstrap. His face was florid with fury, his dark hair, oily and wet with
sweat, clung to his forehead. The space-heaters’ thermostats, in the parlor and
kitchen, were long since busted and nearly useless, but they were
working overtime heating their small hovel. Reasonable or not, he wanted
answers and he wanted them now! They'd drunkenly partied with the boy all Friday
night until they passed
out. Now it was Saturday evening and the boy was still missing.

"He's been gone since we got up early
this afternoon," he yelled
in his thick mountain drawl, his hand unceremoniously scratching at the
glistening, black hairs of his sweaty crotch. "Where the hell you suppose he
ran off to?" With his free hand, he smacked his son sharply at the back of his
head just as the boy was ladling another spoon of soured, milk-sopped Fruit
Loops into his mouth.

"Aw, gee, paw! You made me spill muh
cereal!" Willie whined,
brushing the colorful, wet bits off his bare chest. Like his father, he had
massive body hair and he too was nearly naked
except for a pair of very worn and yellowed
boxer shorts from which he picked off some raspberry-red and orange-orange bits
of cereal that landed
in his lap. In the process, he noticed
his cockhead peaking through the fly-slit. Distractedly,
he tapped and poked at it watching it react to the attention by slowing
stretching outwards.

"How'm I to know what that fool's gonna
do? He don' know nobody 'round here! He prob'ly be froze to death down by the Tombigbee. He's so puny, the wind might maybe have picked
him up and tossed him into that mean ol' river! Shoot! Just one less mouth to
feed! Screw him!"

Clyde
circled around to face his son. Grasping the boy's head between his strong
hands, he turned the boy's face to him. Willie could smell his father's putrid
beer and cigarette breath just inches from his nose. "Well now, son, you may be
right! But that pretty little mouth o' his ate a lot more than food! And screwin'
him is just what I had in mind! Or maybe you'd like to take his place! You
think?" The man eyeballed his son. "Hmmm. Y' know, I do believe I see a really
interestin' similarity in your lips that I have never noticed
before."

Willie
was suddenly lying on his back on the patchy linoleum floor before he knew what
hit him. Papa Clyde raised his socked foot and gave his son a swift kick to the
ribs. With the same foot, he turned the boy's head to the cracked floor tiling,
pressing down on his cheek with his filthy, smelly sock. "You piece of shit!
You, ever try to raise a hand to me 'n' I'll kill you, boy!" He slid his foot
down and over the boy's mouth and nose, rolling his head back and successfully
keeping him from getting any air. His large foot nearly hid the boy's face
completely. Willie instinctively brought his hands to
the large foot on his face, but knew better than to make any real efforts at
removing it.

Clyde
felt the boy try to suck in air and knew he'd only succeed in sucking in sock
juice from his sweaty foot inside it. "So help me! I'll kill you!" Froth and
spittle sprayed
from the man's mouth. "Now, you go get me my strap, boy," he demanded, giving
Willie's head a last shove.

"I'm sorry, paw! I didn't mean nothin'
by it! Jes' a joke, is all. I swear, I'd never raise my hand to you! Never!"
Willie's fear overrode some of the pain in his jaw from when his father hit him
to the floor and the ache in his side where papa's foot met rib bones.

"Boy! I'm not gonna ask you again. Get
...me ...my ...strap!" His father left him in the kitchen to consider his order.

Clyde
confidently waited in the junk-piled parlor of their wooden, three-room
claptrap. The poorly built shanty consisted of two large rooms and a bathroom.
The one, and largest, room served as a parlor. It was furnished with an old,
thirteen-inch Motorola TV that only received two stations across from a
makeshift coffee table, which consisted of a warped board and four cement
blocks. The rest of their homely possessions consisted of two beat-up lounge
chairs, and two battered
dressers. They were paint chipped and decorated
with clothes hanging from the drawers. Their pride was the queen-sized sofa bed,
equally distressed, which when opened, converted their living room into the
bedroom.

This was just one more item they salvaged
from the dump outside of Bessemer. Every piece of furniture in the place was
some man's trash, but by no stretch of the imagination could it be claimed
as another's treasure. Still, ...it serviced.

The other large room was the kitchen,
separated
from the parlor by a crookedly built archway. It held a small, wobbly, chipped,
Formica table, on three sides of which sat differently styled kitchen chairs,
one wooden the other a combination of metal and plastic and an old, wooden fruit
crate. Against one wall stood a tall, thin, rust dappled, metal cabinet which
held what few food provisions they thought to bring in. The thing was once
painted flat white. Now it was tinged with the yellow of cigarette smoke. It was
dented
all to hell, the door having disappeared
ages ago.

A tiny, twenty-year-old Frigidaire
angrily hummed
its dust-clogged fan in protest of being forced to survive above and beyond its
call to duty. It was getting even by souring any milk it held within twenty-four
hours and making its torturers drink warm beer. Unknown to them, water had been
gathering in puddle all along the kitchen wall. The catch pan underneath had
long ago overflowed
and if the floor had been level, they'd have been slopping around in two or
three inches of water by now. As it was, the floor tilted
the other way and as luck would have it or not, it was slowly being drained out
from their abode through a gaping hole under the kitchen counter.

This was a cheese-board size counter
and was flimsily constructed
and connected to the sink. All of which was obscured
with a pile of dirty dishes, beer cans, bottles, and chipped cups filled with
cigarette butts. Had Teddy not been made to clean things up for the most part,
things would have looked a lot worse. Still, the entire place reeked
of stale beer, smoke, dirty socks, underwear, piss, old cum and body odor.

Just off the kitchen was the john,
separated
only by a small entryway where they stored
more crap and hung their coats when it occurred
to them to do so. There, Willie found Clyde's strap¾the only thing in the house
hanging up at the moment.

The thick, black, Garrison belt was
worn supple from use. Willie had, for the most part, been its
primary target for years, until his younger brother, Teddy,
had become available to share in its ferocity. He recalled how, years back, it
was used only to discipline bad behavior, now his father had made it a tool to
whet his, and now their perverse appetites. The routine was set, the body
conditioned, the mind molded. Now all that was left was to go through the
motions.

The mountain boy walked
into the living room. He stood in front of his father, his head down, his
clothes removed. He held the belt out in ritualistic fashion as an offering to
the demon God...his father.

Clyde
grinned as he took the belt from his son's hands. Appraising the boy from head
to foot, he slowly circled him one full round. The young man was about two
inches taller than his old man was, but his posture and humility belied that. The boy was strong, rugged
and muscular. He was hairy like his old man too.

He was also ruggedly
handsome, with his thick mop of wavy, black hair, full beard and mustache. His
cheekbones were set high, his lips full. The contrast of his thick, black lashes
against his pale blue eyes was beautifully intriguing but visibly vacant. He was
a bit on the slow side, but that wasn't the boy's fault. He'd been suffering
from colic as a baby, and in a fit of rage at the boy's crying he hit the child
real hard in the back of the head. The three-year-old child flew across the
room, slamming his forehead into the opposite wall. His mother, pregnant with
their second child, screamed until he agreed
to take the boy to the hospital in Tuscaloosa.

The doctors said all kinds of
gobble-de-gook neither Clyde nor
the boy's mother, Marie, understood, but they got the gist of it. Their boy
would never be quite right.

Fear of further violence, Marie left
without a trace, her boy still in the hospital, but too afraid to come back for
him. She gave up her one son, to save the other yet to be born. She would start
a new life. It would be years before she even told her child about his father
and older brother. The dimwitted,
but beautiful baby who grew to be to be a rugged
mountain boy, obedient to his father's every wish, failing only with momentary
memory lapses of his proper place in the house.

Yes, he was his father's boy, all
right. Very different from the petite, fair skinned
teenage boy, who looked so much like his mother and had now come into their
lives. Seeing his big, strong, humbled boy, standing naked before his eyes
stirred those dark, unnatural and primitive urges in his loins. It always did.

"Take your position, boy!" Clyde
told him.

Willie
turned his back to his father, bent over and placed
one hand on each of the arms of his father's easy chair. The first slap of the
thick, wide, leather strap hit him sharply on the soft mound of his right ass
cheek. "Thank you, papa. May I have another one, Sir?" he said, without emotion.

Whack! The left side of his ass received
a blow equal to the first. "Thank you, papa. May I have another one, Sir?" he
repeated. Again and again the belt landed on his ass and across his back and
with each blow, he asked for more.

Clyde had
stripped himself naked, except for those dirty socks, before his son came into
the room. He was fondling his cock, which was fully aroused. It jutted
out at seven inches in length, but it was the width that was so surprising.
Easily as wide around as a beer can, it waved
threateningly at his son. "See what you make me do? You damned, ungrateful
son-of-a-bitch! See what happens when you cross your father." He raise his head
and spoke to the ceiling, " 'Thou shalt honor thy father'!" he said.

"The Lord insists that I have to punish
you, boy! I have to make you see who's the boss here! It seems no matter what I
do, to keep you right in His eyes, you keep fuckin' up!"

He kept up the blasphemous liturgy as
he continued
to swing the belt across his son's body. Willie's ass was bright red and spotted
with tiny droplets of blood where skin had broke. The mass of hair on his back
and ass cheeks hid some of the red
welts but not completely.

"What can I do, boy, to make you
listen?" Clyde
asked his son when he paused whipping him.

"Something bad, pa! Y' gotta make me do
somethin' bad so's I'll remember to be good and not want to be bad no more!"
Willie's poor brain only fed him the words it remember from repeated
experiences.

"What, son? What should I make you do?
Should I humiliate you, boy?"

"Yeah, pa, ...Sir, you should humiliate
me. I need
to be humiliated!" The boy's face was florid and he shivered
as he spoke through clenched teeth. The beatings hurt but he refused
to cry or yell in pain. He reacted as though he hated his father's beatings but
his erect cock said something else entirely.

"How should I do that, son?" How should
I humiliate you and punish you?"

"And that will humiliate you, son? Why?
Because you don't want to do that?" "Yes sir, I do not want to do that. I
hate to do that. That's why you must make me do it, so's I won't be bad no more,
pa!"

"Very well, boy! I have to do a
father's duty, to make his son be good. Stand up, boy!"

Willie
straightened up while his father slipped around in front of him and sat in the
chair. "Get on your knees, son!" Clyde ordered and the boy obeyed. "When you
talk back to your father, you show your tongue to be wicked, and it must be the
tool of your punishment. To suffer the tastes of things you find distasteful
will help to remind you the error of your ways before you do wrong again. Is
that not true, boy?"

"It's true, Pa, Sir."

"Then you will worship the parts of my
body a man does not worship on another man. Parts you find distasteful and
unnatural! Do you understand?" he asked his son, reaching down and lightly
tapping his son's erect cock with the fold of the Garrison.

"I understand, Pa."

"Then you shall begin!"

Willie
doubled over and placed his head between his father's feet. He turned
his head side to side planting a kiss on each socked
foot. With each touch, the kiss got longer. He lingered
longer every time he'd switch from one foot to the other. When he kissed each
toe through the smelly, white, sweat-sock of one foot, he repeated the ritual on
the other. He lifted his father's right leg and brought his
foot up to his face. Pressing his nose against the sole and in the crevices of
the toes, he inhaled deeply, allowing the pungent odor to
fill his head. He moved his face in a circular motion, rubbing
it about his father's foot, inhaling through his nose and exhaling the air
through his lips. He grew light headed
and shivered with anticipation.

He opened
his mouth and placed the first three toes of the foot inside. Forming a tight
circle with his lips, he began to suck on those toes. His mouth filled
with his own juices mixed with the sweaty moisture of his father's foot and the
acrid filth that coated the sock. He opened his mouth like a fish and worked his
way along the toes until each was thoroughly soaked
and sucked. This he repeated with his father's left foot. All the while his pale
blue eyes looked up at his father's face for approval.

Clyde sat
with the air of an emperor. There was no sign in his face that betrayed his
complete enjoyment of what was happening. He maintained the appearance of a man
in cool judgment and that of an executioner meeting out just punishment.
Certainly not that of a man who was getting off having his toes sucked and
contemplating the other pleasures he would soon be enjoying. His thick cock was
solid as a rock, pre-cum oozed out and formed
a drop at the tip of his ample foreskin.

Willie raised his father's legs and
taking the cue, Clyde
slid down and offered his hairy ass to his boy's lips. The boy scrunched down
further and dove in to the dark cavern before him as Clyde
draped his legs over the boy's strong shoulders and rested
them on his back.

Willie
began by pressing his nose just beneath his father's balls, kissing and gently
licking the sensitive area and thick, bushy hairs that nearly obscured his old
man's asshole. The acrid smell and bitter taste of sweat and fecal residue
attacked his nose and tongue. Down, down he went, his tongue guiding his face
into the wrinkled folds of skin that told him he found what he was searching
for.

He pushed
his way into his father's ass crack. Jabbing spit at the hole and lubing it so
his tongue could enter even further. Slavishly, Willie
licked and pushed his way inside that asshole and began tongue-fucking his
father.

His boy's face hidden from view, Clyde no
longer hid his pleasure. His eyes rolled
back behind closed lids and his mouth gasped open in hot pleasure. "Oh, yes.
Taste it, son! Eat my shitty ass! This is your punishment!" He pumped at his
cock, with his free hand, sticky with pre-cum. "Clean my balls with that sinful
tongue, bad boy!" He drove home his order with a swift hard pelt to the boy's
back from the Garrison belt he still held in his other hand.

Willie
immediately complied by bringing his head up and began to lave his father's
huge, hairy ball sacks. They were already soaked in sweat as he licked and
lapped the wet skin and glistening hairs.

Experienced
with years of practice, he gently sucked in his father's testicles, one at a
time, swirling each around inside his mouth, then, opening his mouth wider and
with a great inhale he had both of them. His tongue moved
them about as his cheeks stretched to manage their contents. His upper
lip pressed
against the base of his father's cock; his nose, the pinkie-knuckle of his
father's hand, which was furiously working at the fat cock. The boy could smell
his father's pre-cum, which had dripped down and coated
the man's fingers and the shaft of the considerable cock rising before him,
hardened red and gorged with blood.

"Do you know what you must do now,
boy?" he heard his father's voice above him.

Carefully extracting his pa's balls
from his mouth, the boy stretched
up on his knees. "Please, pa, I don't want to do it!"

"But you know you have to, don't you,
boy?" Clyde
said, playing out the ritual.

"I know I have to taste what I hate to
taste to punish my tongue for talking back to you."

"Then do it!" the man said, aiming his
hard cock at his boy.

Willie
brought his mouth down to accept his father's cock. His lips peeled back the
slimy foreskin as he slid the huge, rubbery head of his father's fat cock
further into his mouth. He could smell and taste the salty and drying pre-cum as
his spit freshened it with new moisture. The large cockhead and shaft bulged
out even more and demanded more room, pushing its way down and stretching his
throat. He felt his father's strong hands pushing his head down, forcing more
cock in until his lips pressed against the base and he had the entire seven
inches of his father's fleshy cock all the way in.

Clyde
began a rhythmic pulling and pushing of the boy's head up and down, with
Willie's lips gripping tightly and creating a strong suction.

Faster and faster. Up. Down. Up. Down.
Willie slurped and gobbled that huge dick, his increasing saliva poured
over the shaft of the invading cock which he sucked
up back into his mouth with sensual slurping sounds. His father's grunts,
commands and moans only served to heighten Clyde's sexual excitement, making him
fuck the boy's face even harder.

Clyde
felt the tight grip of his boy's throat muscles clutch and release the fat head
of his cock each time he dove in and out inside. He felt his foreskin riding
back and forth over the sensitive cockhead. The hot spit and pre-cum coated his
entire cock in wonderful, warm ooze. That added
even more pleasure to his getting such a great suck job. Now, he felt the
pleasant, familiar build-up and pressure of his ensuing ejaculation!

Willie
felt the tremendous surge of heat and sudden expansion of the cock in his throat
just before it exploded its contents. His father pulled the boy up so just the head of his
cock rested
inside between his lips.

"Ahhhh!" his father screamed
as he shot load after load of cum into his son's mouth. Five, six, seven strong
pulses of cum were dumped onto the boy's tongue before Clyde began to ease up
and he started to soften. "Do you taste it, boy?"

Indeed
he did. It was thick and brackish, but the boy could only nod his assent. "Soon
boy, soon you'll be suitably punished.
Hold on to that. Don't y' swallow till I say so." another obedient nod. "Here,
boy. Here's the rest."

Willie
felt the first warm trickle of piss that told him he could now swallow the
contents in his mouth. His lips held tightly to the cockhead, squeezing it now
and again, effectively shutting off the flow of piss and giving him a chance to
swallow the liquid. After all the previous beer and earlier pisses, his father's
urine was comparatively tasteless having sampled his cum.

Greatly relieved,
Clyde knew he'd given the boy everything he was going to at this point. He
pulled his piss ebbing cock from his son's mouth, allowing some to dribble from
his foreskin down over the boy's chest. He ordered
the boy to lie on his back and raise his legs.

Clyde
stripped himself of his filthy, white socks then rose from his chair. His spent
cock was swinging contentedly. He grabbed the boy's ankles and bent him back so
his son's erect cock hovered directly over the boy's mouth. He tossed his ripe socks down and buried
his son's nose under them. "Now, sniff my socks, boy! Sniff 'em real deep and
feed
yourself, boy! Pass your Daddy's cum from yer ass up to yer dick and into yer
mouth!"

With the boy's legs up the way they
were, his young, hairy, firm ass lay against his father's cock. Within moments,
the feel of that ass aroused
Clyde's cock to further action. Even if he wasn't ready to cum, he was hard
enough to shove it inside that hot ass. He bent down and hurled a massive load
of spit, perfectly landing at the boy's asshole. Holding both the boy's ankles
in one hand, he used his free hand to shove his cock up
Willie's hairy asshole. Once he started the journey down inside that warm
tunnel, he returned
to holding the boy's legs with both hands and started
working his cock in and out of the boy's ass. More immediate
than he could have imagined, his load built up and jettisoned furiously into his
son's tight asshole.

The heavy odor of his father's socks
drove Willie
crazy. He masturbated himself vigorously, and when he felt his father shove his
cock up his ass and then the sudden warm gush of cum blasting up his hole, that
was the trigger that would shoot off his own pent up explosion of cum. He aimed
those creamy bullets directly into his mouth as instructed. Grunting, shooting
and hungrily swallowing, Willie
came again and again into his mouth, encouraged
by the push of that fat cock against his prostate. When he was finished, his
father slipped his cock from the boy's ass, released the boy's legs and let him stretch out
on the floor. Seeing Clyde
standing up over him, his legs on either side of his hips, Willie grinned and
gently stroked his father's feet with one hand and held the treasured
socks from those feet against his nose with the other.

"Go 'head, boy. Clean it off!" Clyde
said.

Willie raised up, his father's socks
slipping off his face and down to his crotch. With his hand, he took his
father's slightly shit stained
cock to his mouth. He licked and lapped it clean, then lay back down between the
man's legs and returned the socks to his nose. He had a woeful look in his eyes
that his father understood.

Clyde
raised his right foot to his boy's face, pressing it against the socks beneath.
Willie closed his eyes, hugged the socks and foot to his face, kissed the sole of his father's foot and
inhaled
deeply through his nose.

"I love you, pa," he exhaled.

"I know, boy. I know. But, we gotta get
dressed
now. We still gotta find that brother of yours."

Willie's
expression of contentment never changed,
but his mind clouded over darkly. He hated his little brother. He knew the kid
just wanted
to take his father from him. That was never going to happen.

End of Chapter V

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